“I wonder if it is for the same reason that Mr Haddo puzzles us so much,” said Susie.
“Ah, there you have a case that is really interesting,” replied the doctor. “I assure you that, though I know him fairly intimately, I have never been able to make up my mind whether he is an elaborate practical joker, or whether he is really convinced he has the wonderful powers to which he lays claim.”
“We certainly saw things last night that were not quite normal,” said Susie. “Why had that serpent no effect on him though it was able to kill the rabbit instantaneously? And how are you going to explain the violent trembling of that horse, Mr. Burdon?”
“I can’t explain it,” answered Arthur, irritably, “but I’m not inclined to attribute to the supernatural everything that I can’t immediately understand.”
“I don’t know what there is about him that excites in me a sort of horror,” said Margaret. “I’ve never taken such a sudden dislike to anyone.”
She was too reticent to say all she felt, but she had been strangely affected last night by the recollection of Haddo’s words and of his acts. She had awakened more than once from a nightmare in which he assumed fantastic and ghastly shapes. His mocking voice rang in her ears, and she seemed still to see that vast bulk and the savage, sensual face. It was like a spirit of evil in her path, and she was curiously alarmed. Only her reliance on Arthur’s common sense prevented her from giving way to ridiculous terrors.
“I’ve written to Frank Hurrell and asked him to tell me all he knows about him,” said Arthur. “I should get an answer very soon.”
“I wish we’d never come across him,” cried Margaret vehemently. “I feel that he will bring us misfortune.”
“You’re all of you absurdly prejudiced,” answered Susie gaily. “He interests me enormously, and I mean to ask him to tea at the studio.”
“I’m sure I shall be delighted to come.”